


Domesticity

by afterafternoons



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Domestic Churchtarts, Drabbles, Every Chapter is Different, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, M/M, Some Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2020-05-31 10:40:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterafternoons/pseuds/afterafternoons
Summary: Quick fics! These are just short stories I've written in my free time.Every chapter is different and not necessarily connected to any other chapter.Feel free to add a prompt into the comment box (or message me on Tumblr @afterafternoons) if I use your suggestion, I'll gift the work to you.(This particular selection is Churchtarts, but McPriceley is welcome.)





	1. Chicken Noodle Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @StarKidMcFly who shot around this head canon with me on my drive to Virginia. 
> 
> Chris gets James sick, but they care for one another in very different ways.
> 
> (In which they live in New York and Chris is a therapist and James is a History Teacher.)

Chris loathes being sick.

He loves his boyfriend, but hates the excess attention and the constant worry. If he can help it, he prefers to power through illness without notice, but James’ keen eye rarely allows for this.

They share a knowing look across the dinner tableone night, after Chris sneezes into the crook of his elbow three times in a row. “Sorry,” Chris apologizes, quick to lie, “too much pepper.”

Knowingly, under the table, the toe of James’ shoe caresses Chris’ exposed ankle almost as if to call him out; but Chris won’t back down. He shoots an aggressive look back, “I’m fine.”

And when James arches an eyebrow in silent protest, Chris scoffs, shoulders tensing as he waves an accusatory fork at his boyfriend. “I’m not sick.”

And he’s ‘not sick’ later that night when he keeps pulling at the collar of his shirt to cool off, despite the brisk weather. Or when he (who never takes naps) falls asleep in the middle of their movie date — his clearly stuffed nose only amplifying the snoring. And he’s definitely ‘not sick’ when he retires early to bed and James notices a bottle of ‘NyQuil’ haphazardly discarded on the counter below the medicine cabinet.

Unsurprisingly, the harder Chris works to hide his symptoms, the sicker and more uncooperative he becomes.

James is supposed to pretend he doesn’t notice that Chris has put their extra quilts to use or that he’s independently sloughing through his sickness; but all of this doesn’t stop him from trying to be of assistance. He stocks the apartment with extra tissue boxes and double checks that all of the over-the-counter flu medications are filled and up to date. He even goes so far as to make chicken noodle soup for dinner one night.

The longer his ailments drag on, the more worn out and accepting of James’ attempts Chris becomes.

“Christopher.” James coos softly, rubbing his hand up and down Chris’ arm to rouse him from sleep, “Let’s check your fever.”

Begrudgingly, Chris allows James to lead him from the bed to the adjoining bathroom where he leans up against the counter with the thermometer under his tongue. “It’s so cold.” He complains, wrapping his arms around himself after playing with his sweat-damp hair in the mirror.

“Shhhh.” James hums, reading the directions on the back of the box even if he’s used the thermometer a thousand times before, “Don’t talk.”

It’s about 68° in the apartment; which isn’t really cold enough for Chris to be shivering or hot enough to be sweating, but he’s doing both. 

Under Chris’ tongue the thermometer beeps. “102.4°” He reads, rubbing at his eyes.

“You’re not sick.” James jokes, taking the thermometer from his boyfriend and roping him into a hug.

Chris whines, letting James hold him in the middle of their brightly lit bathroom, not minding James’ gentle scritching down his back. He could fall asleep like this if it weren’t for James leading him back towards their shared bed. “My bones hurt.” He mumbles into James shoulder.

Chris retreats back into the comforter and the quilts as he boyfriend deposits him on the bed. “If things don’t improve by tomorrow, you have to see a doctor.” James emphasizes, to Chris’ discontent.

“I hate hospitals.” Chris grunts, face already pressed into James’ side as he settles in to read before bed.

James frowns, fingertips brushing Chris’ shoulder. “I know.”

Chris is quick to sleep; James finding himself dozing off during a particularly boring passage sometime later, but it’s Chris who pulls him out of it, disoriented and panicking from a fitful sleep.

He’s talking too fast to make sense, James trying to calm him down. “That was the worst fever dream ever.” Chris cries, head resting against James’ shoulder. It’s rare that he’s ever this fragile, always stoic and guarded (towards anyone who isn’t James).

“You’re okay.” James hums softly, holding him in a protective and comforting embrace, “I’ve got you.”

“We were in a hospital.” Chris explains, calming, “And everything was contracting and expanding like Alice in Wonderland and there was this black, consuming fog that rolled into the room almost like how the blood in the Shining seeped out of the elevators and coated the room and it was trying to take you and I just couldn’t, I couldn’t lose you too.”

“I’m right here.” James assures him, gently squeezing his hand to further his claim. He leans down to kiss Chris, another physical reminder.

“Stop.” Chris says, making no effort to pull away, “I’ll get you sick.”

James laughs, brightening Chris’ mood. “You’re sick? I didn’t realize.”

In almost a weeks time, the roles are reversed. James inheriting Chris’ illness.

The best part about being sick, for James, is he doesn’t mind taking care of himself. He’s more than willing to admit he’s not doing well. But for Chris, who won’t even admit when he himself is sick, it’s fun to watch him squirm as he tries to attain some sort of balance between his adversity to lovey dovey romance and his want to reciprocate the care his boyfriend had provided him.

It often results in frustration on Chris’ behalf, or better put, passive aggression.

Chris drops the freshly washed quilts at the end of the bed. An act of kindness without patronizingly tucking his boyfriend in.

“Thank you.” James replies.

“Just don’t die.” Chris says flatly, “That would suck.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” James assures him and Chris hesitates at the end of the bed, playing with the end of the comforter like he has something to say before wordlessly taking his leave.

As brief and noncommittal as that interaction had been, Chris sits on the edge of the tub, rubbing circles into James’ back later that night as he’s bent over the toilet bowl.

“If I see chili ever again, it’ll be too soon.” James comments, throat hoarse as Chris reaches to clean up his face with a handful of toilet paper.

“I’m not kissing you.” He warns pointing an accusatory finger at his boyfriend before tossing the toilet paper into the toilet and moving to flush the handle as James leans back into his lap. Chris’ hands are quick to comb his hair away from his face.

James humors him with a lopsided smile. “Wasn’t counting on it. Not sure I want to kiss you right now anyway.”

Curtly, Chris nods his response and they wait it out, chatting idly until James is ready to go back to bed with a trash can and an extra towel at his side.

“You’re the reason I’m sick.” James sniffles, blowing his nose into a tissue as Chris grimaces beside him — and he’s not accusing, only teasing because his being sick makes Chris robotic. Stuck, like a deer trapped in the headlights, between empathy and pure disregard.

“Your kids are the reason you’re sick.” Chris says pointedly, “Because it’s flu season.”

“Ah,” James refutes, “but you were sick first. So, truly, it was one of your patients.”

Chris shoots a glare at his boyfriend, eyes squinting as he formulates his next plan of attack. “I use Purell religiously.” He sneers through gritted teeth and James’ outburst of laughter isn’t helping.

“Chris Thomas, you are not a religious man.” James wheezes through his laughter induced coughing fit, “I was there when you were excommunicated.”

“You don’t know what I do.” Chris says defensively abandoning his tablet facedown on his lap in favor of glowering at his boyfriend, “I buy hand sanitizer in bulk at Costco.”

James snickers in response, reaching out from under his cocoon of blankets to squeeze Chris’ thigh. Instinctually, Chris spreads his hand over the top of James’ to squeeze back. Most of their “I love you’s,” are nonverbal, not that any party particularly minds; short kisses and hand squeezes mean just as much as the words themselves and it’s manifested in a physical language they can both easily understand.

James falls asleep like that, hand held by Chris as Chris turns his attention to the season finale of some Netflix show an algorithm had recommended him, gently running his thumb back and forth across James’ knuckles. Eventually, he too retires to bed, certain that his boyfriend will sleep through the night without incident and unafraid to snuggle up to him despite the fact that he’s sick. He figures the odds of him getting sick again, now that he’s passed the cold on, are slim to none.

After a weekend’s rest and Chris’ guileful attentiveness, combining with the strength of the 'DayQuil' he’d taken, James feels rejuvenated enough to power through the demanding school day — receiving a chicken noodle soup delivery from the local Panera Bread on his lunch break.

“Feel better.” Chris texts him on his own lunch break. Followed by a second message, “I thought about sending flowers, but the pollen might have killed you.”

“It’s the thought that counts.” James shoots back, smiling down at his phone. Truly, he appreciates Chris’ effort, all the while understanding his overall adversity to being sick or seeing those he loves sick — and he never expects Chris to do more than he can, but he allows himself to be gracious and accepting of whatever Chris does. No matter how seemingly small the gesture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I found a lot of dumb fluff in the notes on my phone that I figured I'd just post for the hell of it. 
> 
> Just dumb fluff for a ship that isn't necessarily everyone's favorite. 
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated, let me know if there's something you want to see!
> 
> Much love! (Tumblr: afterafternoons.)


	2. Kevin Price (Uganda)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris Thomas has a heart to heart with Kevin Price.
> 
> (No ship, literally just a conversation.)

“You’re still awake?” Elder Thomas observes, padding into the kitchen for a late night glass of water. He can bring himself to be almost surprised to see Kevin lounging, catatonically, on the couch if he indulges his fellow elder in ignoring his very obvious insomnia; because much like Kevin, Chris Thomas is a fan of ignoring problems until they resolve themselves.

“When am I not, Pop-Tarts?” Kevin sighs in acknowledgement, readjusting his long legs as he picks loosely at the fraying threads on the arm of the couch.

Tongue in cheek, it’s Chris’ turn to sigh, rapping his knuckles gently against the counter before he pours a second glass of water for the despondent elder before him.

“Chris.” He explains, holding out the glass as he joins Kevin on the couch, “My name is Chris. I don’t really like Pop-Tarts enough to be nicknamed after them, I just wanted to lighten the mood, you know? You leave home, it’s sad. You get here to see we’ve failed and that’s sad too, so I just figured...”

“You figured Pop-Tarts would do the trick?” Kevin asks, raising an eyebrow and they aren’t looking at each other — rather looking over the recently erased mission board, but it’s almost better this way. No commitment. No expectations. They don’t have to pretend to be close friends.

Chris, who rarely smiles and seldom laughs, humors Kevin with a sort of snort. “You were gullible.” He shrugs, pausing, “We all were.”

They don’t say anything for a while, drinking their water in respective silence. If it were Connor, things would be different. He would be worried and there would be questions and calming hands running through Kevin’s hair and while he doesn’t mind that approach to his problems, this isn’t all that bad either. Chris, sitting next to him, turning a little green army man over in his hands. A gift from one of the kids. “What’re you thinking about?” Kevin dares to ask, intrigued.

“It’s stupid.” Chris waves him away.

“Is it aliens?” Kevin teases, “Connor and I talked about them the other night. I promise you, it’s not stupid.”

Chris pulls a knee to his chest, debating. “Do you ever think maybe this whole thing is a lot like war? That we’re soldiers, that we’re just an army of the Church? They deploy us to shove our beliefs down other people’s throats.”

“We don’t have guns.” Kevin counters, seriously weighing the comparison with a concerned frown.

Beside him, Chris shakes his head, “Doesn’t matter. People still die.”

Kevin’s witnessed that first hand. There was nothing he could have done. Tentatively, he wonders, ”Did you want to come on mission?”

“I don’t know.” Chris sighs, “I suppose I thought I could reconcile what I’d lost. That I could turn off the pain and find whoever it was that I was supposed to be.”

“Did you?” Kevin asks.

“Yes.” Chris answers after a second of thought, “But it’s not who I’d expected. I lost a lot to get here.”

“Me too.” Kevin says softly.

Chris is silent, rubbing his thumb over the lip of his glass. It takes longer this time, for him to speak up. “No one ever really knows when wars end. There’s a date, a year, in our textbooks, sure. But my war might end the day I die, yours might end on that textbook date or a couple days after when word finally reaches you — but I keep thinking about this Japanese soldier who fought World War 2, thirty years after it had ended.

He was told he couldn’t stop fighting until his commanding officer relieved him, but he never came, so the soldier disregarded all the post he got or the travelers telling him to come out of the jungle, that the war was over. And thirty years later, after the war, they had to find his old CO and send him up there to relieve him and he gets pardoned by the government and everything and I just can’t help but think . . . not to insult his intelligence, but is that us? Are we that dumb? The Mission President relieved us, but we’re still here, giving these people some higher power to believe in. Our war is over, isn’t it?”

“We weren’t pardoned.” Kevin says quietly, “We were punished for our war crimes. Excommunicated. We’re just civilians now.”

“Sometimes I think we’re overstaying our welcome.” Chris frowns into his glass, he and Kevin have never really talked this much and quite honestly, Kevin could never figure out if Chris liked him even in the slightest as friends. “Nothing against these people,” He’s quick to backtrack, “I just feel like a bad date, like we’re stringing them along.When do we call it quits and come out with the truth? When do we tell them that we have no idea what we’re doing? That we weren’t trained for whatever this is?”

Kevin shrugs taking a shot in the dark, “In a year and a half when Mission ends?” That answer isn’t satisfactory for Chris who huffs beside him, so Kevin backtracks, “Where did you hear about the soldier?”

“James.” Chris answers, leaning forward to stand the little green army man up on the table. He collects his empty water glass and abandons the soldier there and Kevin on the couch. “He wants to be a History teacher.” He continues from across the counter as he sets his glass in the sink, “He’s good with kids.”

Kevin has spent a lot of time with James and the village kids and there’s no doubting this fact. “Are you off to bed?” He double-checks, staring down the lone soldier and trying, desperately to figure out why it bothers him.

“‘Night, Kevin.” Chris confirms, with a salute intended to mock their entire Mission, but after this conversation — Kevin’s not sure he’s wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was shorter, but it was something that had been sitting in my notes and served no real purpose other than keeping me busy.
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated, let me know if there's something you want to see!
> 
> Much love! (Tumblr: afterafternoons.)


	3. Homework

It’s dark outside when James finally settles into the couch, hands full of tests that need grading. Chris’ has already drawn the blinds and tucked himself into the the opposite end of the couch with a glass of rosé and the TV remote. “What do you want to watch tonight, babe?” 

James feels bad that he can’t indulge Chris with his workload, that they can’t cuddle up on the couch after a long work day and that they have to watch reruns so that he doesn’t get distracted from the task at hand. (Not that Chris ever seems to mind watching  The Office over again.) “Weren’t we finishing up season six?” He hums, spreading his work out across the coffee table. 

Wordlessly, Chris starts up where they’d left off, switching off the floor lamp closest to him — all the while ensuring James has enough light to work in. It isn’t until two thirty-minute episodes later that he’s lost James, awkwardly perched at the end of the couch, but obviously passed out over his work. 

Chris crawls out from under his cocoon of blankets, setting his wine glass on the edge of the table and strategically rouses James, just enough to move him off his work. He’s at that awkward stage of sleep where he looks at Chris, half lidded and bleary eyed and and susceptible enough to listen to suggestion — but he’s not really there and he snuffles something unintelligible as he leans back to stretch out across the length of the couch. 

“J, I need the grading pen.” Chris concedes, after rifling through the pile of half graded papers and checking under the table for good measure.

It takes a good seconds for him to mutter reply, face buried into the couch, “I don’t have it.”

“Give me your hand.” Chris presses. James doesn’t listen, but eventually he’s able to finagle it out of James’ grip. 

At some point in Chris’ life, in some psychology course, he’d been asked to take a language of love quiz. It made sense to him that he scored highly in acts of service, physical touch and quality time and lower in words of affirmation and receiving gifts. He and James did things for one another that at the end of the day, said ‘I love you,’ just as much as saying those three words did — without any of the commitment. Chris loves James, he does, it’s just hard for him to express it verbally. 

So, Chris sits up for another hour or two and finishes grading papers with the TV playing in the background. He’s seen the show multiple times, silently whispering lines under his breath as he powers through the work. Neatly, he caps the pen and paper clips the work back together. He double checks James’ book bag for anything else that needs grading before switching off the TV and rousing James again to coax him to bed. 

Sleepily, he complies, leaning into Chris for support down the hallway. “Can you set an early timer?” He requests, falling into bed fully dressed. Chris stops him from getting comfortable, gently undoing his belt and tie. “I have all those papers to grade.”

Rifling through the dresser for a pair of pajama pants at the very least, Chris nods. He doesn’t understand why James doesn’t follow his lead in coming home and changing into something comfortable and loose. And he’s not going to tell James that he already did the work, not when he can give him an extra hour of sleep AND a nice breakfast — instead of sending him out the door with a thermos of tea and a Pop-Tart. 

“Thanks.” James hums after Chris has helped him change, enveloping his boyfriend in a hug and falling asleep nestled against him like that. Chris doesn’t mind the contact. 

Sometime later he wakes to James’ gently unentangling himself, politely requesting he roll over to stop snoring and Chris obliges, easily falling back into sleep. Their dynamic is easy like this, not too demanding and easy to appease and James loops his arm over Chris’ torso as he snuggles close again. 

When morning breaks, it’s Chris who slips out early to make breakfast and he’s not a world renown chef, but he and Connor had bs-ed their way through a summer job in a kitchen together and he knew enough to keep he and his boyfriend alive and well fed. 

There’s a loud thump down the hall, followed by James pulling a sweater down over his head as he rushes into the kitchen in a hurry just as Chris is finishing the food. “I thought you were going to wake me up.” He says, more than a little wide eyed and frazzled. 

“Babe,” Chris coos, rounding the island to take his face in his hands, “I did it for you. You’re fine.”

“You did it for me?” James breathes out confused, eyebrows furrowed as he looks to the coffee table and then to the kitchen counter. 

“Yeah and then you ruined my surprise breakfast.” Chris chastises, leaning up to give him a kiss and lightly patting his face as if to tell him off. 

James looks through his bag, not that he doesn’t believe that Chris would do that for him or that he’d done it wrong, but more so to appreciate the fact that he doesn’t have to do it. “Smiley faces?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“It started getting late.” Chris shrugs dishing up a plate, “I started getting bored reading the same right answers over and over again. Bacon?” 

“Yes please.” James smiles, stopping to fully appreciate and breathe in the smell of fresh breakfast. “Sorry I fell asleep.” 

Chris wrinkles his nose, “Why are you apologizing?” 

“Because you’ve watched  The Office three times over.” James replies pointedly. 

“You’re mistaken if you think I wouldn’t watch something else if I wanted to.” He replies, taking up the seat beside James. “Besides, you needed sleep.”

“Was I being crabby?” James backtracks, trying to think back to what he’d done when he’d gotten home from school the day before. 

Chris laughs, a crabby James is infinitely nicer than a crabby Chris. “No, you literally fell asleep folded in half over the coffee table.”

“I thought I fell asleep on the couch.” James frowns. 

“That was after I woke you up.” Chris corrects, “I’m telling you, you needed sleep.” 

“Well, thank you.” James grins, leaning to press a kiss to Chris’ lips before enjoying the breakfast he’d made. “I’ll have more for you to grade later.” 

Chris blinks at his boyfriend. “I’m not saying I won’t help you, but I am saying don’t abuse your privileges.” James laughs and Chris cracks a smile in response. He has no probably conceding to help with homework from time to time. He sends James off, today, with a kiss a belly full of good breakfast. Having removed a temporary burden from his shoulders and he feels just that much more accomplished at the start of his day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was half asleep when I wrote this because my cat woke me up at 4AM, but I told myself, “Churchtarts is self care.” 
> 
> So, here’s this. 
> 
> And if you don’t like Churchtarts, I swear to you I have TWO McPriceley things in the works. (One College AU and one Disney thing.) I just have to get them to a point where I like them enough to throw them into the world. 
> 
> Anyways! Kudos and comments appreciated, let me know if you like what I’m doing! (Or if you don’t!) 
> 
> I’m on Tumblr @afterafternoons and I occasionally ask for help and/or opinions if you want to see my work early! 
> 
> Love you guys <3


	4. I Believe In A Thing Called Love

“Connor just got back from Kampala.” James announces; with a light knock on the door he holds an envelope up to evidence his entry and Chris welcomes him across the threshold into he and Connor’s shared room.

“You’ve got mail.” He comments cheekily and Chris bites back a smile as he stands to accept the letter, collecting a quick kiss after a glance into the hall to ensure they’re in the clear. Not only does their relationship stand in stark contrast to the values held by the intention of their trip — but homosexuality is illegal in Uganda.

“Shut the door.” Chris whispers tossing the letter onto Connor’s desk and collecting a second kiss as James takes a step back and another after that, until his back is flat against the closed door and the soft, tentative kisses become more desperate and wanting. Thumbs smoothing across his jawline until they’re tangled in his hair and there’s a sharp inhale as Chris pulls the belt from around his waist and through the belt loops in one fell swoop. “Is this okay?” He asks and James nods furiously.

“You don’t wear your temple garments anymore.” Chris marvels in between kisses as he loosens James’ tie and undoes the front of his shirt, wanting desperately to rip it off and send buttons flying every which way, but knowing better than to leave a trail of evidence.

“Do you?” James breathes, mouth making contact with Chris’ neck as he starts to help him out of his attire and Chris lets out a breathy laugh as James’ quick hands come in contact with skin, answering his own question. “Obviously not.” He deduces, smirking. Chris cups his face, roping him into kiss after kiss until he finds himself being the one pinned up against the door, hands raised above his head and out of James’ way as he kisses down his torso.

“James.” Chris moans out and James’ hands slide up his body, against bare skin. He grabs Chris’ jaw in hand, a little rougher than Chris had anticipated and for as quiet as he’d tried to be, he let’s out a sinful whine, James quick to cover his mouth with a kiss.

Chris drapes his arms across James’ shoulders, melting into him as James bucks his hips against Chris’. He nips James’ shoulder, fingers raking across James’ back as he stifles a pleasured moan. “We have to get away from the door.” He whispers urgently and James lets out a laugh as Chris pushes him back onto the bed.

James shudders with the first teasing stroke of his cock. “Was there someone before me?” He asks, but his tone isn’t accusatory or jealous, but rather that of piqued interest as he let’s Chris have his way. “Is there a boy waiting for you at home?”

Chris glances up at James, preferring to talk about literally anything but his couple hookups with one of the nurse’s on his sister’s hospital floor. He’d have thought that this might’ve come up one of the first or second times they’d had sex, not as they were approaching double digits. This moment feels particularly inopportune. “James,” he breathes, pressing kisses up his thigh, “really?”

James drops it, but Chris finds himself circling back to it — afraid that James will worry about it if he doesn’t address it. “There’s no one back home.” Chris breathes, mildly distracted by James’ mouth. “We broke it off after the funeral.” And they leave it at that, Chris arching into James’ touch. Repeatedly, he finds himself suppressing verbal affirmations as his mouth falls open, afraid someone will catch them.

And with his face buried into the crook of James’ neck, he’s quick to regret the lack of a lock on the door.

“Oh my God!” Connor exclaims, horrified as he fumbles to close the door and Chris scrambles off James to gather his clothes with a guilty look.

“It only took us eight times.” James whispers, shimmying into his dress slacks and Chris glares at him, straightening up as he prepares himself to lie.

“Sorry.” Chris says sheepishly, pulling back the door, Kevin looking a bit like he was going to bust in and see for himself what had rattled Connor. “I didn’t want to tell you there was a mouse in the hut until we got it.”

“There’s a mouse?” Davis pipes in, from the couch. “Did you get it?”

“James caught it actually, right when Connor was walking in and we let it go out the window.” Chris covers, looking to James who remains expressionless behind him. It’s not his best lie, but it seems to be working. “Don’t worry we locked the window so we don’t have to worry about any more mice . . . or lions.”

“I was just coming to talk to you about the letter your parents sent.” Connor says lowly, nudging Chris back towards their room and he obliges, waving James away.

“Did the mouse bite you too?” Connor hisses when the door closes behind them, grabbing Chris by the collar of his shirt and leading him to look in the mirror that’s leaned up against the wall above his dresser — a hickey peeking out from under the collar Connor holds in his hand.

“Yes.” Chris swallows stubbornly, holding eye contact with Connor in the mirror until his best friend lets go of his shirt. They stare at one another for a handful of second before Chris makes the first move, smoothing his shirt out.

“How long have you two been together?” Connor asks, dropping out to the bed as he lets the anger and betrayal that had briefly manifested dissipate. He looks sheepish and guilty in the reflection of the mirror, as if it were possible for him to feel more embarrassed that he walked in on them than it was for them to be the ones walked in on — which may as well realistically be the case; Chris unabashedly owning his mistake.

Chris shrugs, “We’re not dating . . . or I don’t know. It’s complicated.” It’s not really Connor’s place to know, but Chris realizes in this moment that some part of him had been waiting for this to happen just to get the cat out of the bag.

“When did it start?” Connor sighs.

Chris swallows, feeling a bit interrogated. He knows Connor’s only curious because he’d thought they’d told each other everything, just not . . . this. “Two weeks ago, maybe? I kissed him the last time you brought back mail.”

Connor nods, moving to stand.

“Are you mad?” Chris blocks his path.

“No,” Connor sighs, “I just saw both of you very naked and I’m trying not to think about it, okay? I don’t know how I feel, I guess I kinda thought you would tell me.”

“It’s illegal, Connor.” Chris frowns, think realistically, “The less people that know, the better.”

“I’m your best friend.” Connor counters, “I told you about my big fat crush on Kevin, that’s illegal too.”

“That’s different.” Chris says cautiously, “James and I are having sex and that’s— that’s bad here, but only because they have bad laws. It’s not— your crush on Kevin isn’t bad.”

“That’s ethically debatable.” Connor huffs.

“Technically, so is having sex with James.” Chris shrugs, moving so Connor can pass but he makes no effort to do so. He sighs, tracking back through their conversation, “So you are mad.”

“No.” Connor shakes his head, “I’m happy for you. I’m just confused, is all.”

“Let’s talk about it.” Chris suggests, gesturing to the bed. “You don’t have to be confused.”

“Not right now.” Connor decides, finally moving past him. Chris follows him to the door, at a loss of words, unsure how to fix what he’s done. He finds himself leaning against the door frame as Connor leaves. He catches James’ eyes, waving him back to the bedroom where he shuts the door behind the two of them again — this time without lustful intention.

“How’d that go?” James asks lowly, keeping a respectful distance as if Connor would walk in on them a second time.

Chris shakes his head, dropping onto the bed. “He’s upset that I didn’t tell him. I didn’t really get a lot of information, he says he’s not mad just confused.”

“I mean, what we’re doing is illegal, right?” James says lowly, “He has to understand that.”

“I think he does.” Chris says, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. He likes to poke and prod in jest, but he doesn’t do well with Connor actually being upset with him.

James sinks onto the bed beside Chris, allowing him to lean into his side and gently threading their fingers together as they sit in silence. Chris trying to come up with ways that they can fix all this. “Should we just tell everyone?” He wonders aloud.

“And have to tie a sock to the door every time we want to be together?” James counters, with a frown. “That’s up to you.“

“Can we trust everyone?” Chris debates, running a tired hand down his face.

“I’m optimistic.”

Chris huffs, looking up at James and James leans down to meet him in a kiss. He looks back to their intertwined hands, gently running his thumb over James’ and James squeezes back in silent reassurance. “I’ve never come out before.” Chris realizes, “I mean, I’ve never really declared to a group of people that I’m bisexual. I’m just a fisherman casting hooks until someone bites.”

“I bit.” James says, playfully nipping Chris’ earlobe and Chris laughs, leaning back into his boyfriend for support. “How’d you tell Connor?”

Chris shrugs, “He told me that he regretted telling everyone that he struggles with same sex attraction, because he thought that everyone knowing would make it harder to nip in the bud and I told him that I don’t regret telling everyone that Lauren had died, but that, if it’s any consolation, I thought it was normal to have attraction to people of the same sex . . . I just didn’t say anything about not acting on it, because I already had.”

“Well, surely you had to have told people back home.” James replies pointedly, “I mean, you said it yourself, that I’m not your first.”

Chris shakes his head, “Lauren knew before I did, or before I’d admit it to myself. I spent nights at the hospital with her and there was this cute nurse, about my age, that’d been taking CNA classes through the other high school, so I’d never seen him before. I like to think I cast my hook and got lucky, but I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t acknowledge that Lauren was totally my wing-woman. I ended up telling her that Hudson and I had been messing around, but I never put a label on myself or on our relationship. Somehow my parents found out and they tried to label me, but they also thought it was a phase, so . . .” He trails off, shrugging.

James is silent, thinking, before he turns so that he and Chris are facing each other. “I’m gay.” He says, searching Chris’ eyes. “I never told you that, I just started holding your hand and you responded to it.”

Chris’ lips quirk in a grin, “I’m bi.”

There’s a beat of awkwardness, having already known this about one another before James laughs. “I don’t think I want to do that in front of everyone.”

“Me either.” Chris confides.

So, they don’t. Chris tries to talk to Connor, but the topic is shrugged off quicker than it crops up and Chris drops it. He doesn’t want to talk about it if Connor won’t.

As days pass, he and James become more aware of themselves, careful and cautious about how much affection they display and where. Neither is more inclined than the other to rip the bandaid off and tell everyone, but Chris is more skittish — already feeling like he’s disappointed Connor.

He’s the first to break away from some particularly heavy petting in the living room after dark, pacing the floor until Kevin grabs his glass of water and leaves.

“Are you two okay?” Kevin stalls, watching James pinch the bridge of his nose on the couch, Chris pacing back and forth in front of him, head in his hands.

“Yeah.” James covers, smoothly. “Chris was just telling me about this nightmare he had. I was already awake, I’m trying to write something back to my mom.”

Kevin nods, the answer sufficient enough for him. “Feel better.” He encourages, taking his leave.

And they’re quick to find the spaces they’d think to be most private, aren’t.

“Almost done?” Elder Michaels calls into the bathroom one morning, next in line for the shower and the two nearly slip as they jump apart behind the curtain. Urgently, Chris motions for James to answer.

“Yeah, I’ll be a couple more minutes at least.” James calls back, hoping it’ll get Alex to leave and check back.

“What do we do?” Chris hisses and James is confident they’ll be fine, he’s roomed with Michaels long enough to know that he doesn’t typically sit around and wait — or so he thinks. They dress and clearly embarrassed to have been caught, Chris finds himself having to slink past Alex Michaels in perhaps his first true walk of shame.

James opens his mouth to force an excuse, but nothing comes out.

“If you two think I didn’t already know.” Michaels replies, shaking his head as he edges past James towards the bathroom. “We share a room, am I not supposed to notice the hickeys?”

Chris groans as they return to the Hut, James trying to calm him with a reassuring shoulder squeeze. “Kevin definitely knows.” He laments, turning towards James as they walk through the front door, “If Michaels and McKinley know, Kevin has to know. He practically walked in on us.”

“Nobody’s walked in on us quite like Connor. Besides, do you really think Kevin cares enough about either of us to be involved in our affairs?” James asks seriously. He kisses the top of Chris’ head, pushing him onward, wet hair and all.

“What are we?” Chris asks sometime later, standing at the counter in the kitchen as he makes dinner; the rest of the hut occupied with whatever it is they do. Chris had stopped paying attention to group activities, investing his time in hiding away he and James’ relationship — not that he regrets his decision, just that his interests lie elsewhere, obviously. It’s clear, however, that this question had been bugging him all day.

“What do you mean?” James looks up from the book he’d picked up on the last outing to Kampala.

“Are we dating?” Chris replies, “Or just seeing each other, because if it comes down to it, I was just seeing Hudson and if everyone has to know, I want to be dating you.”

“Well then, I guess we’re dating.” James grins, reaching across the counter to squeeze Chris’ hand. Chris squeezes back, leaning forward to collect a kiss.

Approaching this conversation had taken a lot of courage on Chris’ behalf, afraid of long-term commitment after losing his sister, but being with James felt right. Committing to James felt like the right thing to do.

Unsurprisingly, they’re caught again, and again, and again. Once by Connor, who very much did not want to talk about it, still. And twice by Nabulungi who had swore herself to secrecy and apologized profusely, commending the boys on their new love despite the possible ramifications.

“If we get caught again . . .” Chris had panted, knees nearly buckling beneath him with the way James had him pinned against the edge of the bed— and it’s as if he had said the magic words, Davis opening the door behind them without knocking. Needless to say, Chris had let out a poorly timed expletive, fists balled in the bedsheets before bellowing, “Get the fuck out!”

Both his boyfriend and Davis had complied.

Luckily, at least for Davis, he’d seen less skin than Connor. Chris had hoped that if they stayed as clothed as possible, without impeding the act, that they could get away with it.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case.

It’d taken about a month since Connor had first walked in on the couple, and about three hours since Davis had, to have Chris breaking.

He stands up in the middle of dinner, both hands planted on the table as he addresses the room of former elders. “For fucks sake,” He pleads, lacking any pleasantries, “learn how to knock.”

Davis stares right through his dinner, a pink flush of embarrassment spreading across his cheeks and James sighs, feeling guilty. “Chris and I are dating.” He announces, because Chris won’t.

Neely’s surprised, Schrader and Zelder unsuspecting, but nearly everyone else had caught the pair at some point. Perhaps most surprising though, is the fact that both Arnold and Kevin had remained oblivious — which reaffirmed their faith in Nabulungi’s secret keeping abilities and had them concerned about Kevin’s general awareness.

“But homosexuality is illegal here.” James continues, “So please, help us keep it under wraps.”

Chris sighs, playing with the edges of his placemat before he finally sinks back into his chair. Quietly, he elaborates, “Help us and James and I will stop sneaking around and having sex without warning, where we can easily be walked in on.”

“That too.” James swallows, turning back to his dinner.

“Thank God.” Michaels mutters, the first to speak up as he returns to his dinner too and the tension eases. Given enough time, Chris feels less anxious about the whole ordeal and gently, James nudges him under the table with the toe of his shoe as if to say, “See? Wasn’t that easy?”

In the coming weeks, they try to be more aware, the weight of a secret lifted from their shoulders — and the other elders seem thankful at least to have some warning, usually a tie tied around a door knob. Although, admittedly, the pair feel more actively engaged in group activities now that they don’t exactly have to plan for times when no one else is around — and maybe they’re having less sex, but there’s no thrill in it when you aren’t sneaking around.

Chris and Connor remain perfectly content in not rehashing how they’d gotten here in the first place and Davis seems pretty happy it’s never brought up again, as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK what this is, but it's been in my notes for a month or so. 
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated, let me know if you like what I’m doing! (Or if you don’t!)
> 
> I’m on Twitter & Tumblr @afterafternoons 
> 
> Love you guys <3


	5. Elevator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Churchtarts, this is another Chris & Kevin bonding moment.

“I’ll just run down the road . . .” Chris had shrugged absentmindedly, occupied by the dinner order he’d been trying to place on his phone, “. . . and pick up the pizzas.”

Kevin had gone to open his mouth, about to insist on a more reasonable approach, that they could all just walk down the street and sit down to eat or that they could even have a delivery boy bring the pizza to the apartment, but James had shook his head and muttered silently under his breath, “Don’t.” So, Kevin had dropped his commentary and let Chris live out his independence as he slipped his phone into his back pocket with a satisfied grin, grabbed the keys off the hook by the front door and waltzed right out of the apartment towards the parking garage adjacent to his building without another word.

When the door had clicked closed and James had turned to set out napkins and plates, Kevin found himself expecting an explanation. “So, we’re just gonna let him do things the hard way?” He had asked, eliciting a humored laugh from Connor.

“You and Chris are the last people we’d try to suggest anything to.” Connor had explained, “You know how you like things done, so we let you do them your way.”

Kevin had tried to take offense, hurt by the thought that Connor had held his tongue time and time again — just letting him do things the hard way, but if he’d thought about it, even just a little, he’d come to the realization that any suggestion would go right in one ear and out the other, without even the slightest allocation for consideration. “Besides,” James shrugged as Kevin had stewed in his offense, “sometimes letting Chris do his own thing lets his social battery recharge and he gets less snippy.”

“Unless someone royally pisses him off on the streets of Greenwich.” Connor had commented and James laughed, a silent understanding between men that knew Chris (and his tendencies towards road rage) better than Kevin did.

Still stewing and without much to do until Chris returned, Kevin had stationed himself near the window, people-watching as they chatted — and keeping an eye out for Chris. Something in him longing to support a man he supposed be shared some similarities with, but had never really bothered to get to know deeply.

“I’ll help him up.” Kevin decides, watching Chris emerge from the parking garage and neither Connor or James stops him, leaving Kevin to wonder if he’s doing things the hard way as he waits for the elevator.

“Need a hand?” Kevin offers as the doors to the single elevator Chris had been waiting on open on the first floor with Kevin inside.

“I got it.” Chris assures him, still exercising his independence as he uses a knuckle to press the button up to the 12th floor — and Kevin continues stewing, feeling useless now but thinking that maybe he too had just needed a minute or two to recharge his social battery after his recent discovery and Connor and James’ isolating camaraderie.

“Long line?” Kevin asks awkwardly, knowing if it were any stranger in the elevator he wouldn’t say a word — but it’s Chris and they know each other, not exceptionally well, but they’re not strangers. They mostly know one another through the lenses of Connor, who knows each of them rather well in different capacities.

Chris shrugs, the pizza boxes looking massive compared to his small stature. “Not really any longer than I’d expect from a pizza place on a Friday.”

Kevin nods, the elevator rattling and he doesn’t think much of it until Chris leans forward to push the 12th floor button again — and then a second and third time. “Actually.” Chris changes his mind, pawning the pizzas off on Kevin as he jabs at the button.

“Hit the emergency call button.” Kevin suggests and Chris shoots a glare at him, hitting the door open button instead. It’s the first time, perhaps, that Kevin thinks Connor and James had been onto something — recognizing that Chris won’t take his suggestion.

“We aren’t in an emergency.” Chris says, trying to pull the doors apart.

“Then what do you call this?” Kevin asks flatly, waiting for an opportune moment to lean over and press the button. His arms are long enough that he could reach over Chris no problem, but he’s kind of amused by the effort Chris is exerting.

“We’re just stuck. I’ll call James.” Chris refutes, pulling out his cell and the second he’s occupied, Kevin jabs the emergency button, now on the receiving end of Chris’ unamused glare. “Voicemail.” Chris submits, going back to pressing the door open button as the elevator continues to ring. “If this elevator were on fire, we’d be dead.”

“Thanks for the visual.” Kevin huffs, holding the pizzas out for Chris to take back so he can check his phone.

Reluctantly, Chris takes the pizzas back, only after an unspoken threat that Kevin will drop them if he doesn’t. “What makes you think your shitty Sprint services will work over mine?” He presses, elevator still ringing as Kevin opts to send a text.

Kevin doesn’t answer, “At least we have rations.”

“Seriously?” Chris rolls his eyes, “And if we didn’t? Then what? You think I’d give in after ten minutes and decide to eat you first? I hate to break it to you, Kevin, but if we’ve been unanimously agreeing to who we’d eat in life or death scenarios, you’d have been gone a long time ago.”

“When have either of us ever come close to eating another human?” Kevin rolls his eyes.

Chris scoffs, giving back just as much attitude, “You seem to be the one to think now is a good time to start.”

“All I said is at least we have pizza.” Kevin says defensively, waving his hands around for emphasis until suddenly the phone in his hand emits a soft buzz. He pauses, looking at the screen. “My text went through.”

“You said we had rations.” Chris corrects almost silently, the elevator still ringing and he turns back to continue pressing buttons.

“An operator will be with you shortly.” A robotic voice breaks through the incessant ringing and Chris groans as Kevin waits patiently for any sort of acknowledgment on Connor’s end.

“That’s great.” Chris quips sarcastically, toeing his converse against the door after he thinks better of kicking it, full force.

Kevin keeps quiet. Slightly agitated and not wanting to get into it with Chris Thomas in a small space, he keeps his eyes locked on his phone, waiting for anything — for a read receipt or for the three little bubbles to crop up in an incoming response.

Chris groans, deserting the pizzas on the floor to free up his hands.

“You’d fit.” Kevin muses, catching Chris’ eye as he inspects the hatch.

“This isn’t Mission Impossible, Kevin.” Chris waves a dismissive hand, retreating to lean against the wall opposite Kevin. “We’re not doing it.”

“All I said was ‘you’d fit.’” Kevin defends himself, “You were the one weighing the options.”

“You’re insufferable.” Chris replies, already messing with his phone again and Kevin pouts, clearly offended.

“What did I ever do to you?” Kevin pushes for clarity as the elevator continues to ring, “Is this residual hate from me walking out my second day in Uganda?”

“I don’t hate you.” Chris corrects, “I’m just not a people person.”

Kevin scoffs, “You’re one of the most extroverted people I know and you’re a therapist, you have to be some sort of a people person for a job like that.”

Chris pinches the bridge of his nose, because Kevin isn’t wrong. “Look, I’m golden in group settings because I can schmooze my way through and make it out the other side without any expectations or obligations. I’m good at my job because I can focus one-on-one with a patient. They’re there to talk about themselves and while I might share a personal anecdote every once in a while, those sessions aren’t about me — I don’t leave work with any attachments.

I’m sorry if you’re offended, but the only people I really hang out with after work are James and Connor. Sometimes you’re there, sometimes you aren’t and by the time I get home from work, my social battery’s running on empty. I’m not good at letting people get to know me in general, but I’m less inclined when I haven’t had a chance to relax. I don’t mind you and Connor coming over, I’m not saying I hate that, I’m saying that you and I have never had a reason to get to know each other. I just know you as Connor’s boyfriend. I don’t fault you for Uganda, or see you as some screw up., I just— I don’t know. I’ve only known you for two years.”

“Two years is plenty of time to get to know someone.” Kevin says pointedly, slowly digesting everything Chris has just told him.

Chris shrugs with a sigh. “I’m a tree with two branches, Kevin, and I’m not too good at growing new ones. My other branches have quite literally died and I can’t do that again. I’m working through my own things, still, but believe me when I say I’m trying. It’s slow growth.”

Kevin nods in understanding of Chris’ metaphor. Connor and James his branches, his sister, Lauren, the one he’s lost.

“Do you want to eat?” Chris sighs, sinking to the floor as he pulls one of the pizza boxes into his lap and Kevin succumbs too. The elevator continues to ring, but no help arrives. “Clearly they want people to die in this thing.” Chris laments, biting into his slice.

They eat in silence, Chris reaching up to hit the alarm button a time or two to see if it’ll stop the machine’s incessant ringing. Surely, James and Connor have to know something’s wrong by now.

“Chris? Kevin?” Connor’s voice echoes faintly, as if on cue and they’re quick to stand, both knocking against the door.

“We’re here!” Kevin shouts back, over the ring of the elevator.

“The Fire Department is coming.” James replies and Chris sighs again, this time in relief as he stoops to close-up the pizza box.

In less than an hour, Kevin notes, keeping an eye on the time, FDNY rescues he and Chris from the elevator and after a trek up the stairs, they’re able to finish their pizza in piece.

“I’m never taking those elevators again.” Chris says, his mouth full as he leans into James’ side.

“We’ll see about that when you’re running late for work.” James teases and Kevin watches the way Chris blossoms in front of his boyfriend, smiling and laughing. He doesn’t fight back, lacking an instinctual need to protect himself around James and when Chris catches Kevin watching, he offers the smallest of smiles in acknowledgment — as if to say, yes, this is the person I feel most comfortable with. He’s seen me the most vulnerable, in every sense of the word.

Kevin supposes the two are more similar than they care to admit. Kevin the most unabashedly himself around Connor, Nabulungi and Arnold. He smiles back, reaching for another slice of pizza.

When he and Connor take their leave, they take the stairs. All 12 flights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per usual, thanks to @StarKidMcFly for messing around with me and indulging my dumb ideas. 
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated, let me know if you like what I’m doing! (Or if you don’t!)
> 
> I’m on Tumblr @afterafternoons
> 
> Love you guys <3


	6. Field Trips

James will admit he’s a little lax with the high school’s tardy policy, and that Principal Harris has had a talk or two with him about being sure to reprimand the repeat offenders, but that’s just not who James is as an educator. 

He wants his classroom to feel like a safe space and for the most part, his students respect that, and by the 8:15 warning bell, he only has one or two kids narrowly make it through the door by 8:20. 

James’ first class of the day is Advanced Placement European History, which if James had any real pull in the way the days were structured, he wouldn’t be asking kids to be doing AP work before they’re even fully awake. 

Though, on this particular day, he’s scheduled to take both sections of his AP Euro class on a field trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, so his class is a little fuller this morning than it usually is as kids from his 7th period class dawdle in the back of the classroom due to the lack of seating.

“If you haven’t done so already, please place your lunch boxes in the tote at the front of the class.” James announces, slapping his attendance clipboard against his palm as the final bell rings, “And if you’re not going on the field trip today, please give up your seat to someone who is and go down to the library. Mrs. Smith is down there with your alternative assignment.” 

James starts in on attendance when his attention is pulled elsewhere. “Mr. Church.” Principal Harris barks from the doorway with a two fingered wave that beckons him into the hall. 

“Sit tight.” James addresses his class, setting the attendance clipboard on the whiteboard ledge upon his exit. 

“I’m afraid Mrs. Harris is sick today.” Principal Harris says as James closes the classroom door behind him, “I want your class to go on it’s field trip, I do, but school policies say you need a chaperone for every 15 kids. I’m afraid you’re going to have to postpone.”

“I’m only ten kids over,” James frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose in troubled thought, “can we let it slide just this once? I mean, I already have several kids staying behind with the sub because of grades or failure to produce permission slips and whatnot.”

“James, you know I can’t do that.” Principal Harris shakes his head and James sighs. The last thing anyone wants to do is disappoint a classroom of high school students. 

“What if I call Chris?” James proposes, “He doesn’t have work today and he’s good with kids. He’s a therapist, after all.”

“If your husband can make it,” Principal Harris shrugs, and James doesn’t correct him to say they’re still only dating, “be my guest, but he needs to check in at the front office before you leave. Make sure he has one of those lanyards we give the substitutes.”

James nods dutifully, “I’ll let you know.” Principal Harris walks off with a stiff nod as James returns to his class, “Alright, change of plans. Mrs. Harris is sick, so I need to make a phone call to see if we can find a replacement chaperone. Otherwise no trip today.” 

A series of boo’s ring out through the classroom, as James punches in Chris’ cell number to the class phone, adding an extra +9 to call out. James crosses his fingers as he looks out over his class; most of his kids are already wearing their jackets — ready to board the busses waiting headed for the art museum. 

“Rosemary,” Chris panics as he answers the phone, “what’s wrong?” 

If James had to guess, he’d say his boyfriend had been sleeping in on his day off and had awoken, disorientated, to a call from the school — automatically assuming the worst and expecting a call from the receptionist. “Relax.” James says, “It’s me. How soon can you be at the school? I need another  _ adult  _ chaperone to take my kids to the Met.” 

“Jesus fuck, you scared me.” Chris breathes, turning over his wrist to check his watch, “I can be there in 10.” 

“Make it 5.” James amends.

“Love you too.” Chris says sarcastically as he pushes himself out of bed, the phone line already dead. 

* * *

Chris has been to the high school a handful of times. He’d much prefer the ability to claim his visits to the school were cases like these, in support of his boyfriend’s career, but unfortunately, most of his visits constituted as ‘official working hours’ through the mental health clinic he worked at, where he’d sometimes have to come to the high school to offer his services as a grief counselor. 

He knows exactly where James’ classroom is, though, after all the times he’d brought his boyfriend food during parent/teacher conferences and various other after school and half day events. Upon entering, he flashes James the lanyard he’d been handed at the front office and James turns the lights off to get his student’s attention. “Alright,” He announces, clapping Chris on the back, “we’re gonna go load up the busses, and if you need anything today, you look for Mr. Thomas or myself.”

Students file out of the class, and Chris and James take up the rear. “They could have called me Chris,” Chris chastises quietly, “Mr. Thomas is my dad.” 

James just waves him off, trying to maintain an air of professionalism despite working with his boyfriend for the day. 

When they get to the museum, his students are reminded not to touch anything and to be polite to the museum staff. They’re guests, after all, and the students are given a time and place to meet back for lunch before the guided tours start. 

James offers to show the kids around, seeing as he’s visited the museum before, but most of them are already off in groups of friends and so, as fate would have it, James invites Chris along for a personal tour — that is until some of James’ students find them admiring the New British Galleries, and Chris takes a backseat, watching from afar as James teaches his students about the things he’s most passionate about as he leads them through the gallery, and Chris enjoys the way his eyes light up the same way they do when he forces Chris on summer road trips to the likes of Monticello and Mount Vernon. 

“I think Madeline might have a crush on you, Mr. Church.” Chris teases in a hushed whisper when they catch a break, and James shoots him a disapproving look only to have Chris move onto the next subject, “If you ever suggest we match the artwork on our dining room chairs to some god-awful wallpaper like this, I will leave you.”

All James can do is roll his eyes and agree that, yeah, some things that were once desirable and beautiful are just… downright tacky. Besides, he’s quite fond of the hodge podge of dining room chairs they’d bought to pay homage to their dining room table back in Uganda. 

Later, Chris had brought up the whole ‘crush’ thing again. “Don’t get it in your head that a teenage girl likes you because of your good looks,” He’d said, with a gentle elbow to the rib in jest, “she just likes you because you hold authority over her. If she saw you buying milk at the grocery store with no prior knowledge of who you are, she wouldn’t blink twice.” 

James had scoffed at that, “And what if you hadn’t met me in Uganda, but rather in a grocery store buying milk?”

“I’d ask for your number.” Chris had said matter-of-factly, “Because you’re my type, but it’s improbable we’d have ever met without our Mission anyway because I highly doubt you had any trips to Bowling Green, Kentucky planned in which you’d need to stop and buy milk. So, I’d probably just fall in love with someone who looked vaguely like you, but not nearly as handsome.”

James relented with an eyeroll and a humored huff in response, and they’d moved on. 

* * *

Inevitably, as all field trips end, James finds himself in the front of the bus, surrounded by the students most interested and invested in his class… and maybe, as his boyfriend had pointed out a time or two, by the students who harbor a slight crush on him given his position of authority. 

Chris is fast asleep against his shoulder, worn out by the sudden interruption in his day off and having passed out before the bus had even started moving. At a moment's notice, Chris is more than willing to step up and help his boyfriend, but prior to the call that had drug him out of bed, he’d fully been expecting to abuse the coveted luxury of sleeping in and lounging about on his day off. 

“Mr. Church?” Madeline asks from the seat beside him, tearing James away from absentmindedly running his thumb across the hand Chris had left in his grasp. “How long have you and Chris been together?”

James is private. There’s one picture of he and Chris on his desk dating back to their time in Uganda, and there’s a pride flag hanging from his dry-erase board — but the principal had handed those out to every teacher in an attempt to illustrate their school as a safe place. James sometimes helps the LGBTQ+ club, though all in all, his students really have no reason to suspect he’s gay. 

It’s always, “my partner.” Never, “my boyfriend.” And he’s not ashamed, he’s just setting what he feels are appropriate boundaries between he and his students. It’s far less dangerous now, to be out, but it’s harder to be out when you’d found both yourself and your partner in Uganda — where homosexuality was punishable by death. Sometimes, it’s hard to overcome your past.

“Chris and I started dating seven years ago.” James supplies, finding it easier to divulge when prompted rather than bear all. Besides, he doesn’t mind answering questions, especially when they aren’t rude or invasive, but rather of piqued interest — his students are just trying to grasp the world around them. 

“And you’re not married?” Sarah asks cautiously, from her seat beside Madeline. 

James offers a semi shrug, careful not to wake his sleeping boyfriend. Chris has a certain aversion to commitment that James has come to respect, and well, overall the timing hasn’t felt right. “Well, he and I decided we’d finish school first and then get jobs and go from there.” 

“It takes seven years to become a teacher?” Sean gawks from the seat behind him, leaning into the conversation. 

“No, no.” James assuages any fear, “I went to college for four years, and Chris went for two because he’d already finished two years down in Kentucky, but Chris and I actually met in Uganda before we moved back to the States.” 

“You met on vacation?” Madeline grins, face falling in confusion when James shakes his head. 

“Chris and I used to be Mormon. We met on our mission trip.” He explains, “But we’ve both since left the Church.” Okay, maybe he’s taken a page out of Arnold’s book there in choosing not to tell the whole truth. 

“Mr. Church,” Sarah leans forward, “you probably have so many cool stories.” 

James supposes he does, there’s just never really been an occasion to divulge more than necessary. Maybe that comes the longer you teach, but James has only been at it a year and a half out of college. 

Chris stirs beside him, stretching briefly before he’s settling back in to use James as a pillow, and James’ attention is briefly taken from his student’s line of questioning. “Are we almost back?” Chris asks, nuzzling into James' shoulder as he intertwines their fingers. 

“Nearly.” James promises, pressing a kiss to his head. 

The bus is quiet and James guesses most of the kids are worn out or quietly whispering amongst themselves, but he knows better than to let himself doze off. He's just glad they're not too far from the school as he gently wakes his boyfriend and gently ushers his kids off the bus and into the arms of their awaiting families. 


	7. New Years

Truthfully, James hadn’t clocked when the drinking had started or even how much everyone had had — but he knew for a fact, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that everyone around him was far gone. There was no returning from this and tomorrow, as they woke to a new year, James would be the one nursing hangovers left and right. 

Chris is tethered to James’ side as they lounge on Connor’s loveseat, fingers dutifully woven together so Chris can’t wander any farther to worse decisions. Not that Chris minds, of course, he’d asked his boyfriend to cut him off at a reasonable point and maybe James had left the leash a little loose — but Chris had come back to shower him in compliments. Chris’ sober love language manifests in different ways, but get a little alcohol in him and he really blossoms, opening himself fully, and laying all of his emotions down on the table — all the things he’d only ever thought, to keep himself guarded, all the things James had ever wanted to hear. 

Chris’ attention is caught briefly by the television as some TV personality or another gears up for the ball drop and any attention James had been receiving is cast to the wayside as Chris launches himself off the loveseat, frantically waving his free hand to silence the crowd. “Shhhhhhhh!” He says, as if he needs complete silence to see the countdown on the television. “Shhhhhh— shhhhhh.”

“Say it don’t spray it, Poptarts.” Someone says and Chris’ attention is again wrapped up in trying to catch the culprit that James has to get him back on track.

“5,” He announces loudly, squeezing Chris’ hand, “4, 3, 2, 1!” Chris makes an elaborate show of straddling his boyfriend’s waist to kiss him and he smells just about as boozy as he tastes, but James kisses him anyway because it’s tradition. “Happy New Year.” He smiles as Chris pulls away, Connor coming to press a kiss to his cheek after locking lips with Kevin, and James loses whatever grip he’d had on his boyfriend as Nabulungi ropes him into a hug. 

“Think this will be the year you two get married?” Nabulungi asks, as quiet as she can for all the noise around them. Chris is caught off guard, but all things considered, he and James had just passed their eleventh anniversary and everyone around them is either married or in too new of a relationship to consider that possibility. 

Marriage, evidently, isn’t at the height of Chris’ priorities. He has commitment issues, despite being with James for the past eleven years and James, on the other hand, had watched his parents’ marriage fall apart. Neither had been particularly rushing towards this seemingly inevitable end and maybe it’s the alcohol, but Chris doesn’t terribly mind the idea. 

He returns to his boyfriend, excusing himself from Nabulungi and pathetically holding out both of his hands to be held and James obliges, welcoming Chris onto this lap. “What if we got married?” He proposes— or rather, suggests, his words slurring together. 

“Like right now?” James arches an eyebrow, “Honey, I’d be the only one who remembers.” 

Gingerly, Chris takes James’ face in his hands, trying his hardest to look him dead in the eye. “Honey,” he throws the pet name back in his face, speaking slowly as if James is the one who needs help comprehending, “not right now, later. This year, maybe?”

“Maybe.” James nods and he’s not being sarcastic or indulgent, he really does mean it. They’ve made it through their mission, through four years of school and through the first five years of their careers together. They’ve had two apartments and a goldfish who they’d won at a fair — and despite their spoiling and best attempts to keep alive, had unfortunately been released to the porcelain express. Maybe they were ready for more. Maybe they were ready for marriage and maybe if James played his cards right . . . a dog. (He’d always wanted one.)

“We’ll see.” Chris agrees, nodding as he gently pats the side of James’ face. Chris leans in for a kiss before slinging his arms around James’ neck. “I’m tired.” He laments and gently his boyfriend pinches his thigh.

“Let’s go to bed.” James suggests, everyone winding down around them now that they’ve rung in the new year. Of course, being the only sober one, he could drive he and Chris home — but they’d found out the hard way that after a certain number of drinks, Chris gets nauseous on most forms of transportation. The whole of District Nine, reunited to ring in New Years Eve, is expected to stay overnight in Kevin and Connor’s apartment. James is just thankful they’ve since moved out of their old shoebox apartment into something more spacious. 

Carefully, he helps Chris to his feet, seeking out either host for a room assignment. “Where do you want us?” He asks, catching Kevin on his way back from the fridge. 

“You guys can take Connor and I’s bed.” Kevin says and James’ll note that he’s sounded better but he’s certainly learned how to handle his liquor. 

“We can’t do that.” James tries to backtrack, feeling guilty, and Kevin waves a hand.

“Con and I already talked about it. We set up a blow up mattress, we’ll be fine.” 

James nods, Chris leaning all of his weight against him and he thanks Kevin, even making a point to offer his help on the way out, “If you guys need anything, just let me know.” Gently, he guides Chris down the hall where he eagerly collapses onto the bed. Helping Chris change would probably be a nightmare if everyone hadn’t settled into something more comfortable when the night started. They’re past the days of helping one another out of black ties and white dress shirts.

“I love you.” Chris makes a point of saying, after James has turned off the light and shut the door— feeling his way through the unfamiliar room for the bed.

“I love you too.” He reciprocates and Chris practically pounces on him the second he’s under the covers, showering him in the same attention he’d been dolling out not even twenty minutes prior. “Chris,” he frowns, rejecting the onslaught shower of kisses in the most polite way he can, “hon, it’s late and you’re drunk. Why don’t we go to bed?”

Begrudgingly, he complies, settling in for the night and there’s part of James, deep down, that clings to the smallest sliver of hope that he can fall asleep before Chris’ worse-than-usual (and absolutely abhorrent) drunk snoring. 

Unfortunately, Chris beats him to the punch and James finds himself mindlessly rubbing his thumb in circles across Chris’ shoulders as he studies Connor and Kevin’s room in the dark — and he’s still awake when Kevin and Connor finally stumble in to claim their spot on the blow up mattress.


	8. Sleep Walking

“James?” Chris hisses from the end of the bed.

Half asleep, James’ first instinct is to stretch his fingers across the spot Chris once occupied in pursuit of his warmth, hoping physical contact alone will coax him back to bed. However, turning up empty, James props himself up on his elbows to squint into their dark bedroom, trying to make out Chris’ figure rustling through their things until he’s forced to turn on the bedside light. “Babe?” He sighs running a hand down his face, his voice thick with sleep, “What’re you doing?”

“Have you seen my—?” Chris trails off, squinting into the light as he absentmindedly taps at his chest, hoping James’ will follow before he’s off and digging through their dressers again.

“What’re you looking for?” James yawns, clearly confused and Chris lets out a frustrated breath. 

“My name tag.” Chris elaborates, throwing his hands into the air and that’s when James notices his boyfriend’s somehow already pulled on a pair of dress slacks and is currently clutching a patterned dress shirt in one hand as he rifles through the dresser drawers. 

James humors a small laugh at his boyfriend's expense, “Christopher, come back to bed. It’s 2AM.” 

Chris gestures loosely to the other side of the room, where their alarm clock had sat back in Uganda as he looks to his boyfriend incredulously, “It’s almost six.”

Sighing, James pushes the covers off to round up his boyfriend, gently wrapping him in a hug from behind and wrestling the dress shirt from his grasp. “You’re sleepwalking again.” He says, pressing a kiss to Chris’ hair, and simply hoping he can reach some deeper part of his boyfriend’s subconscious. “Let’s forget about your name tag and go back to bed, yeah?” 

And ever so gently, he leads Chris back to their bed with little resistance, hoping this’ll be the night’s only incident. “D’you wanna change out of these slacks?” He asks as Chris rubs at his eyes and he could almost be fooled into thinking his boyfriend was awake if Chris wasn’t being so nonsensical. Incidences like this only crop up when Chris is unreasonably stressed and James imagines, two jobs could do that to a person. 

Chris is cooperative enough in letting James help him back into his pajamas and James is attentive in making sure Chris lays back down before he joins him in bed, turning the lights off. He wraps an arm around Chris’ abdomen, hoping it’ll keep him from wandering off and beside him, Chris submits back to sleep. 


	9. Pandemic

James’ phone vibrates first, causing the dinner table to reverberate before the ringtone even begins — and rather dumbly, both he and Chris stare at the caller ID before James steps away from the table to take the call. 

Wordlessly, Chris tops off his wine glass, sighing as he watches James pace the entryway. He supposes he’s drinking for two; for James, who doesn’t drink and has been up for thirty-six hours straight, juggling phone calls from the school district, distressed parents emails and making a valiant effort to revamp his lesson plans as more information is released. And he’s also drinking for himself, trying to quell his own anxiety’s about the looming pandemic with a little bit of alcohol. 

James returns to the table, rubbing his eyes and if he notices that Chris has refilled his glass, he doesn’t say anything as he drops into his seat. 

“Who was that?” Chris asks politely, picking at the food on his plate as he studies his boyfriend’s face, trying, at the very least, to engage in conversation as they process the news in their respective ways.

“The Superintendent.” James answers, having hardly touched his food at all, “We’re suspending school next week without deadlines, they’re calling them ‘Act of God days,’ and then we’ll take spring break off as scheduled, and then, I guess, we’ll reassess.”

Chris nods, swallowing and rather abruptly he stands, collecting his plate as he gestures to his boyfriend, “Right, well, then let’s get you to bed.”

“Hon,” James sighs, reaching to squeeze Chris’ outstretched hand, “I have to reply to a couple of emails and let my kids know what’s going on before I can sleep, but it won’t be that much longer, okay?” 

Begrudgingly, Chris makes a show of pouting and James pulls him into a quick kiss before excusing himself from the table and generously offering to help Chris clean-up, an offer that is just as quickly turned down no sooner than it has passed James’ lips. “You need to sleep.” Chris reiterates, his compassion and worry for his boyfriend’s health manifesting in a bout of bossiness. 

James retreats to the office and Chris starts in on the dishes, obsessively scrubbing at them until they’re good enough to load into the dishwasher. It all starts innocently enough, he wipes down the table after their dinner and while he’s at it he wipes down the counter . . . and the door knobs, and the remotes and his phone; and the longer James leaves him alone, the more time he has to pour himself another glass and get out the swiffer. 

Chris knows, reasonably, and rather technically, that he’s suffering from a bout of thought distortions that stem from the trauma surrounding his sister’s death — but even knowing this and being a licensed therapist, he can’t seem to stop his gradual descent down the rabbit hole. 

“Christopher?” James finds himself shouting as he unplugs the vacuum from the wall sometime later, “What’s going on?” 

Chris looks to the vacuum in his hand, weakly pressing the button to no avail before he looks back to his boyfriend, “I was just cleaning up.” 

James checks his watch, the circles under his eyes impossibly deeper and he sighs. “Let’s go to bed.” He surrenders, taking Chris’ hand before he can protest or involve himself in wrapping up the vacuum cord. 

“What’s going through your head right now?” James pries, turning off the lights as they go and he nudges Chris into their bedroom before him, “You’re doomsday cleaning.” 

“I’m not—“ Chris tries to refute flippantly, trilling his lips as if James just doesn’t understand where he’s coming from and he gestures loosely at his boyfriend in retaliation, rather than finish his thought. He turns towards their dresser, rifling through for a pair of pajamas to change into and James drops the conversation, lacking the energy to pry. 

However, he finds himself on Chris’ heels again as his boyfriend slinks into the bathroom to wash his hands. “Chris, your hands are clean.” He says matter-of-factly, leaning into the doorway.

“You can never be too careful.” Chris replies and the longer he looks at James with his big doe eyes, the quicker James caves to the unspoken begging, retreating to the bathroom to wash his own hands. 


End file.
